


After Ten Years

by Callmesuperfreak



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Baker street 221B, Deal, Death, Demons, Gen, Hellhounds, Johnlock like friendship, London, crossroad demon - Freeform, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:52:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmesuperfreak/pseuds/Callmesuperfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~A Superlock crossover~</p><p>Ten years ago Sherlock made a deal with a crossroad demon. And after ten years the hellhounds are coming to get him. The Winchesters are trying to save him, while John and Mrs. Hudson are left with questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Ten Years

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on an AU gifset on Tumblr. I lost the gifset, but got inspiration for a little story. So enjoy :)
> 
> FYI. English isn't my first language. So sorry for the spelling mistakes.

How far would you go for a friend? Would you let him stay with you when he has a rough time? Would you pay his debts if that would ease his pain? Would you catch a bullet for him? Or die for him? Or sell your soul? I know someone who would. Even when I want to say he wouldn’t

 

“Dean, quick!” The younger Winchester yelled from the doorway from 221B Baker Street. The dangerous barking from the invisible hellhounds were close behind Dean as he ran towards his brother. For a moment Sam thought he had to close the door before Dean would be inside to safe the rest. But just in time Dean got in and both of them could close the door. After that, Dean made sure salt was placed at the crack underneath the door.

                Sam was already running upstairs to Sherlock and John’s apartment. He walked into complete chaos and fear. Mary was sitting in one of the armchairs seated by the fireplace. Her cheeks were wet from the tears she cried. Her eyes were still wet and puffy and she was shaking from the fear. Poor lady, Sam thought.

                Watson was kneeling beside Mary. One of his hands was on her back, rubbing it gently, while the other one was resting on her knee as a sign for support. Even though he was holding himself strong for the sake of the moment, there was clearly a glimpse of pure anxiety in his eyes. And it was understandable.

                “The door is salted, but it wouldn’t hold them back for long.” Dean said while he walked into the room to stand next to his brother. The hellhounds were still barking and growling in the background. The longer you listened to the sound, the more terrified it sounded. It was like a nightmare, but this time, you couldn’t wake up. Because all the monsters in your dreams were real.

                A loud growl was coming above the regular barking and made sure Mary let out an anxious little sound before she would burst into tears again. She was such a strong woman, but even hell’s personal pets could shake her off her feet.

                “Can somebody please explain what the hell those things are outside?!” John was clearly getting frustrated by the fact that he didn’t know what was going on. He felt completely useless. The only thing he could do was soothing Mrs. Hudson. And even that didn’t seem to work out well.

                “Hellhounds.” Sherlock said calmly before Sam or Dean could even open their mouths. He sat on the armchair that was pointing towards one of the windows. He sat there so relaxing. His shoulders were relaxed and his back rested against the back of the chair. His left leg was resting on his right knee and his fingertips were touched each other as he rested his elbows on the armrests. This was a familiar pose for him, but the one you would use in a situation like this.

                Dean turned towards Sherlock and looked at his back.

“So you must be the troublemaker, hm?” He said it like it was one of the most normal things in the world. Like he was talking about a kid who dropped the expensive vase and not to a man who sold his soul. But if you’re a Winchester, you could consider facing hellhounds as slightly normal.

                “I wouldn’t consider myself a ‘troublemaker’.” Was the only answer Sherlock gave after a short moment of silence.

                “He means to say that you made the deal, right?” Sam jumped in before Dean would make a wisecracking remark.

It remained silent, except for the growling in the background. Dean himself began to growl out of irritation that Sherlock wouldn’t work with them. They were trying to help for God’s sake.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He blurted out.

“If it was that obvious, why did you had to ask?” Sherlock said calmly not even a second after Dean finished his sentence. Dean himself looked back at the perky detective. The fact that he was so calm about the fact that he was about to get ripped to shreds was frustrating him even more. He was ready and well to end that “son of a bitch, as Dean would say, before the hellhounds were here.

Sam already made sure that wouldn’t happen by holding his hand on his shoulder and calling his name softly to call him back to senses.

“Deal? What Deal? Sherlock, what are they talking about?” John said out of confusion. In the mean time he stretched himself so that he was standing next to Mary instead of kneeling down. He, too, was looking at Sherlock’s back, waiting for him to answer. But he didn’t. So Dean took the opportunity to express his frustration into an explanation.

                “So, Mister Detective over here made a deal with a crossroad demon. She would make sure his deepest desires would come to life and in return he would get ten years.” 

                It was silent after Dean was done explaining the concept of a crossroad demon. John and Mary were still progressing the whole fact that demons actually exist, but before he knew it, John asked the first and burning question.

                “And what happens after those ten years?”

                “Hellhounds happen.” Dean answered shortly.

                Mary and John still had trouble believing this so Sam decided they could use a proper explanation.

                “They-“

                “They’re coming to get me.” Sherlock interrupted Sam, but remained staring at the dark streets through the window from his armchair. It was in the middle of the night.

“My ten yours are done and I got what I wanted.”

                Silence again. Everyone was looking at Sherlock. He was still sitting in exact the same position. So calm and serene. Like he didn’t even realize that Death was waiting for him to take him to the gates of hell. But he realized. For the last ten years he had been realizing this and preparing himself for it. He would embrace it. No struggling, no running away. He would just sit there and wait, because he knew where he was doing it for.

                “So what was it?” Everyone was surprised by the tone of Mrs. Hudson’s voice. Of course it was still full if fear, but it was so steady and certain. She really wanted to know.

“What was your deepest desire?” She continued. There was no reply. Sherlock didn’t want to answer it, because it had no use. He already knew the answers he would get. Watson would say he was mad and that it was stupid. And maybe it was, but in all those years he still didn’t regret his decision. If he had to, he would do it all over again.

                “Sherlock, answer her.” John tried to be convincing.

                The hellhounds were still growling and trying to get through the doorway. They were running out of time. And fast.

                John was noticing that.

                “Damnit, Sherlock!” He called.

                Meanwhile Sam left the apartment to see if the line of salt was still intact. It wasn’t. The wind was blowing through the cracks of the door and breaking the line. Now it was only the door that was holding back the monsters.

                “We need to hurry. The door isn’t holding them for much longer.” Sam said from the hallway.

                “Is there anything we could do to stop them?” John was far beyond desperation.

“There’s nothing you can do, John. Not anymore.” Sherlock said.

John turned back to the detective, going from desperate to angry and back to desperate again.

“Then can you at least tell us what you wished for? What was it that the Great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t get that he was willing to sell his soul for it?”

                “Dean, I need help!” Sam yelled from the hallway. The hounds were almost getting through and Sam was with his back against the door to buy the people some time.

                “Didn’t we give you enough love?” Mary suddenly asked. This made Sherlock’s head turn, facing the two remaining people. Something snapped inside him. The way John and Mary were looking at him broke his emotionless wall down within a split of a second. He realized that he was really going to lose these two people.

                “No.” he simply said before he stood up and made his way towards Mrs. Hudson. He kneeled down in front of her and took her hands in both hands. Her eyes were still teary.

“No, no, no, Mrs. Hudson, don’t ever think that.” Sherlock said soothing.

                “Then what was it?” she whispered. Sherlock was silent again. After a while he closed his eyes.

                “It was Watson.” He then whispered, hoping John wouldn’t hear him. But he did.

                “Wait, what?” John asked in full disbelieve. Did he really say that? Did Sherlock Holmes really sell his soul for him? But Why?

                “But I don’t understand. What for?”

                Sherlock let go of Mary’s hands and stood up to face John. Probably his best and only friend.

                “Did you know what happed ten years ago?” No answer.

“We ended up in a car crash when we chased that Bulgarian ponce. I got out fine, while it was almost certain that you wouldn’t last for any longer than a month.”

                And John remembered. He remembered the ponce. He remembered half of the car crash and he remembered how astonished the doctors were when he woke up weeks after with nothing more than a concussion.

                “It was you.” John mumbled in disbelieve.

“You sold your soul to save mine.”

                “We can’t hold them back anymore!” Dean yelled from downstairs. The growling and the banging became louder and more aggressive. It was only a matter of seconds.

                “Why?” Was the only thing John could bring to words.

                A weak smile appeared on Sherlock’s face and John wasn’t sure, but if you watched really good, there was a tear in the corner of Sherlock’s eye.

                “Because you’re my friend.” He said.

                “Guys!” Sam screamed one last time before the door shot open and the brother were jumping out of the way. The hellhounds made their way upstairs.

                He looked at John.

“Goodbye.” He smiled. He let that one tear fall down.

“Friend.”

                And he closed his eyes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, don't be bothered to leave kudos!!


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